


(You've Shown Me) Things I So Needed to See

by HYPERFocused



Category: Point Break (1991)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Surfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 05:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: Johnny's in over his head. Drowning shouldn't feel this good.





	(You've Shown Me) Things I So Needed to See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryvanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/gifts).



> Title from Concrete Blonde's "I Want You", off Bloodletting, and the Point Break soundtrack.

His first day on the job, and newly minted FBI agent Johnny Utah was already dreading every one that followed it. Harp, his new supervisor, was a sanctimonious shit-heel, who Johnny knew was going to live up to his name and harp on even the most minor thing Johnny did that wasn’t 100% by the book. Angelo Pappas, his partner, was some sort of washed up stoner sad sack, whether he’d been dipping into the evidence locker or not. He wasn’t the worst guy, but it was obvious he had his own thing going on, and, even if he was less of an asshole than their supervisor, he, too. wasn’t looking for any input or insight from some greenhorn fresh out of Quantico, no matter how stellar his test scores. So Johnny vowed just to do the damn job by the book, cross every “I” and dot every “t”, whether it was logical or not. Or at least that was he told Harp, who was so stuck on his own power trip that he didn’t even catch Johnny’s flipped cliches. Pappas did, though, saying “Good for you, Agent Wonka.”

That put him up a few notches in Johnny’s estimation. “I'd like to think of this position as the golden ticket to my future at the bureau, sir.” He could bullshit with the best of them. 

Bullshit seemed to be what most people at the L.A office thought of Angelo’s theory that the string of bank robberies had been committed by a gang of surfers. It sounded pretty out there to Johnny, too, but Pappas struck him as someone who knew his shit. Besides which, the investigation had the potential to be anything but boring. Despite what he'd promised Harp, Johnny was not there to do tedious fact checking or sink into laboratory Minutae when he could be out in the field. Though this wasn't exactly what he'd imagined.

Learning to surf -- pretending he'd ever wanted to -- was going to be interesting, even if he hated it. He certainly hated the hormonal little twerp at the surf shop who sold him the board. But he was wrong about surfing itself, He fucking _loved_ it. 

Working his way into the lifestyle meant cobbling together a persona meant to draw in the right people. The ones in the presidential masks, hopefully, and the one he needed to to get him an in with their crowd. He didn't even have to lie. Much.

This wasn’t the life he envisioned for himself growing up. It wasn’t what he’d sacrificed for, He was going to wear a uniform, it was true. Something with a mascot on it, a number, and UTAH on the back in block letters. Utah, in a few short years, was going to be as big of a name as Montana. First he was going to win the Heisman, (and graduate with honors, his parents insisted on it.) “You’ve got to have something to fall back on once you stop playing,” was his mother’s advice. She worried about concussions. 

His dad just said, “Don’t be such a nag. The kid’s hard headed enough. As long as he keeps his helmet on, he’ll be fine.”

His father was right. Somehow Johnny always managed to avoid serious head trauma . But he blew out his knee during the most important game of his collegiate career, and blew his future chances at the same time.

* * *

Forget the transition from paper targets to people who couldn't be predicted mathematically, he'd known that was coming. This was different. What the fuck was he thinking? He was so far over his head he was looking up his own asshole. There was a minuscule amount of justification he could possibly convince himself he deserved for using Tyler, (and by using, he meant pretending he had a similar backstory to hers, not sleeping with her, because that was against every kind of rule or regulation.).

But whatever the fuck he was doing with Bodhi? That was different. That was everything he’d denied himself in school, junior high on up, because there was no room for that in the locker room, and if people knew the quarterback was dating the head cheerleader, but suspected he was fucking around with the wide receiver, it could ruin everything. Of course that kind of thing happened in locker rooms all the time, just never while he was involved. And despite missed or squandered opportunities with guys in college, he'd told himself it wasn't that big of a sacrifice. 

Then he met Bodhi, and everything went out the window. Bodhi was like no one Johnny had ever known. Straight out of a novel his local high school would have banned, but kids of all sorts would be drawn to, Bodhi was -- an experience. He was fucking unreal, and Johnny really wanted to be fucking him.

Or the other way around, Johnny had to admit. He’d never thought he’d want that before, to be fucked, but just the short time Johnny had spent in Bodhi’s utterly compelling presence made it obvious that whatever happened between them would be unforgettable. That it might also be deadly was as much of a thrill as it was a threat.

It was true. The near death experience of being with Bodhi was a trip like no other. It didn't even matter what they were doing. Surfing and sucking him off both felt like the best kind of submersion. Satiety and sensation. Flying and falling, floating and fucking. It all felt freeing, frightening yet fantastic.

 

The search for Bodhi after he released Tyler was exhausting and fruitless. Pointless, too, since Johnny knew exactly when and where they would meet again. But keeping up the appearance of doing thIngs by the book was a necessity for now. He'd fucked things up so irreparably he could never forgive himself, he deserved all the fallout afterwards, and how it nearly tanked his career with the FBI. Did tank it, really, blew it out, just like he'd done his knee what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Remarkably, Tyler had forgiven him, despite the lies, and the pretense that started their relationship in the first place. The FBI always taught that a good cover contained as much truth as possible, and Johnny’s backstory was true in so many respects. She hadn't taken him back, though. Johnny hadn't asked. They didn't belong together. They'd never a balanced pair. They were both orbiting around the same darkened star.

Sometimes, even now, life as a Fed behind him, he's actually using his law degree for environmental and oceanic protection, Johnny thinks about the impossible. About bodies that never are found, people who are just too present for anything as ordinary and everyday as death to touch them. He catches the glint of a certain green eye, or the hint of a Texas twang, and for a moment, it's like Bodhi’s there. Uncuffing Bodhi was a call Johnny has never regretted. He thinks about free-falling, and being caught, of finally catching on and knowing when to let go.


End file.
